


Desperatis gaudium

by Anonymous



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Masturbation, Omorashi, Pee, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23516326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Julian Bashir plays a private desperation game
Comments: 10
Kudos: 57
Collections: Anonymous





	Desperatis gaudium

**Author's Note:**

> If the tags didn't give it away: this fic discusses in detail a pee desperation kink, wetting, as well as masturbation. Turn away now if this isn't your thing!

It always starts as a small twinge, barely noticable, but oh so delicious and promising. He has had several glasses of water and a few good cups of tea for breakfast, so he came prepared. He doesn’t let it distract him, he’s a good surgeon and he’d never dream of letting anything get in the way with his job. For the hours the surgery takes, he is focused, the perfect doctor. No one knows the game he is playing but himself. It’s wonderfully private. It’s one of the few things of his body he has always controlled. Every signal from his rapidly filling bladder is a reminder he is in control. Once they are done with the patient, he sends the kind Bajoran nurse away, ensuring her he’ll be fine, he just wants to check on some lab reports. She smiles and wishes him a good afternoon. As the door swishes shut behind her, he slumps and immediately straightens as his bladder sends a wave of hot urgency through him. He presses his thighs together, willing himself to stand up straight, to not grab at himself. Not yet. After a few tense seconds, he makes his slow way to his office, moving a little more stiffly than he wants, but still not suspiciously so.

He breathes a very quiet sigh of relief as he sits down, trapping his penis between his thighs as he crosses his legs. This takes the edge off, for now. He knows he needs to get out of his surgical gown and into his uniform, though, and just the thought of stripping the garment sends another surge of need through him. He bends forward, unable to control the movement, squeezing his muscles for all he’s worth. Not yet, not yet.

This urge, too, passes, though he finds he’s breathing hard. He did have more fluids than usual, wanting to challenge himself. He very carefully rubs a hand over his abdomen. It’s hard and distended, he notes with an almost clinical touch. All that liquid, held back only by his iron control. His cock gives an unhappy throb at still being caught between his thighs and that forces him back to his feet. For a second, his hand flies to his crotch, sure he needs to grab himself to stop from leaking. The second passes and his muscles hold. Smiling slightly, he gets rid of his surgical robes. In just his underwear, he looks down at himself.He allows himself another casual stroke of his abdomen, marvelling at how full he is. His hand strays lower, sliding in his regulation underwear and gently stroking over his penis before cupping his testicles. He shives at the sensation, moving his hand to give himself a few gentle strokes. His penis twitches in interest, the need to urinate temporarily less urgent as he feels himself grow hard. He lightly squeezes the glans, savouring the feeling of his own hand.

Not yet, though. Not here.

With another gentle squeeze, he quickly gets his hand out and grabs his uniform. As he stops stroking himself, the urge has come back, stronger than it was before. He exhales again, louder this time. His bladder feels like a heavy rock, the need seeming to increase much faster than it usually does. His erection flags somewhat, leaving him half hard in his uniform. He sits down again, carefully, and keeps a hand near his crotch. He gently rubs the outline of his dick, feeling it twitch again under his hand. He feels full. He feels good.

Oh, Julian has played this game many times before. He loves to balance on that delicious edge of holding and wetting himself. He’s spent many a pleasant evening in his quarters with an overfull bladder, leaking and spurting and refusing himself the relief of urinating. He’d stroke himself to intense orgasms, his body caught between desperately needing to pee and wanting to come. Sometimes, his need to urinate would win out and he’d urgently and wildly rub himself on his wet clothes, streaking them with ejaculate as well as the result of holding for hours. The wetness feels like nothing else.

He needs to stop thinking about that, because his bladder sends another warning sign. This time, he does stop his lazy stroking to grab his member through the thick uniform, squeezing hard. That has never happened before this early in the game. He feels the urine pushing, warning him he needs to find a place to relieve himself now, or it will come out. Shivering slightly at how urgent, how good it feels, he squeezes at his cock head, turning it into a rhytmn of squeezing and relaxing his hand. Soon, he is hard again, his uniform obscenely tented in the front.

He trusts himself to walk now. Being the CMO thankfully allows him direct access to his quarters from his medbay lab. The walk is awkward, he is forced to stop halfway to bend over and press his hand harder between his legs. Julian squeezes himself, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. It’s never been so intense, so pounding, so terribly urgent. His cock throbs with need, a need to climax, a need to finally relieve himself, anything to stop the pressure.

Not yet. He is so close.

He makes it to his quarters, locking the door behind him. He pants and leans against the door, the need that felt so impossible before getting even worse now he’s in the safety of his quarters. He frantically rubs at his erection, dancing in place as he toes off his boots. He gets his right boot off as the need spikes and he feels a leak. He becomes stiff as a board, muttering under his breath as he squeezes himself even harder. Just a leak. Warm and wet around his glans, wanting so badly to keep going, release it.

He’s fine. He can hold it. He has to hold it. He manages to get the left boot off, too. He’s unable to move for a few seconds, now grabbing himself through the uniform with both hands. The urge to open the uniform zipper comes over him. He could open the uniform and grab himself so much better. He could. He could.

He doesn’t. Breathing in deeply, he forces himself to walk to his living area, where a pile of extra absorbent towels waits. Just the sight of those sets him off and he leaks again, a longer leak this time. The wetness feels amazing on his cock. He wants to go on. He wants to sink down on the floor and urinate. He wants to sink his cock in the wet towels and come harder than he’s ever come before.

Again, he doesn’t. It takes two hands, some painful squeezing and a lot of awkward dancing around, but he gets control back. His erection is still present, though he isn’t fully sure anymore if it’s from his pent up urine or his need to orgasm. At this point, they are one and the same need. He does give in to a small temptation and unzips his uniform to take himself in hand, making sure to keep himself covered. His penis is hot and heavy and he shivers as he hits the by now large wet spot in his underwear. His uniform doesn’t show it. Not yet.

He allows himself a few harder strokes than before, groaning softly. The waves of pulsating need to take his dick out and piss are now joined by an increasing need to stroke himself to orgasm. He remains in control, stroking himself almost lazily and feeling a different kind of wetness gather at the tip of his penis. He swipes a finger over it, spreading it and touching the wet spot of urine in his underwear again. He looks down at his distended abdomen and rubs his free hand over it. With the precision of a surgeon, he presses down in just the right area and almost howls. Urine spurts out of him before he even has a chance to realise. Hot and warm, it soaks his underwear. Both hands are on his cock now, squeezing, forcing the slit shut. It hurts, but it feels so good.

His uniform shows a small spot now and oh by the gods, he needs to go. He hasn’t gone since he got up and he had all that liquid. “I need to pee” he allows himself to whisper, shivering as he does so. His hand moves faster over his cock now, settling into the hard jerking motion he enjoys when he gets this desperate. His breathing speeds up and he gently rubs his abdomen with his free hand now, feeling the hardness underneath. His hand moves down lower to gently tug at his testicles, whimpering again. “Oh gods, please, I need to go” he whispers as his hand speeds up even more, furiously working himself over.

And by the gods _does he have to go_. The need has drowned out everything else, there is only a constant thought of peeing, of aiming his cock and soaking the towels, of letting it all pour out. He has waited so long, he is so full, he can feel the urine press at his urethra opening. He has to piss.

A long spurt escapes him now, despite his hard jerking. It leaves a large wet spot on his uniform and he knows he is losing it as another spurt follows, his cock jerking of its own accord. He moans in desperation now, hand a blur as he masturbates himself. His wet uniform is tight over his erection and his jerking makes him rub against the soaked material. He needs. He needs because he will explode. He desperately thrusts his hips along with his relentless strokes, his breathing ragged and uncontrolled. His cock jerks again and his hips stutter as he reflexively tightens his hand around himself.

And then he _goes_. He’s helpless against the sheer force of the stream, his hand stills and his mouth falls open. Never has he urinated this hard and uncontrollably, spraying everywhere, he can feel his cock quiver in his hand. “I’m pissing,” he whispers, daring to use that word now as he sinks to his knees in his own puddle. “I can’t stop” he moans, soaking the towels as well as his pants. The urine keeps coming, hard and fast in a loud hiss. He brings his free hand to his crotch, feeling the stream against his fingers, rubbing the squelching material against his now rock hard cock. He hears himself whisper almost as if he’s far away “can’t stop pissing, can’t stop it, oh gods I need to go, I need to piss, I’m _pissing_ ”

The stream seems never ending, he doesn’t actually feel relief until he has been pissing for over a minute. Heat pools around him. His stream splatters uncontrollably, it actually sprays out right through the material of his uniform, his urethra feeling stretched, the towels no doubt soaked through and yet he can’t stop, he still _goes,_ glassy eyed and moaning.

When it does end, he is still hard and throbbing. Almost falling down in the towels with his hand wrapped firmly around his cock again, he starts humping into the wet mess, his hand setting its previously furious rhytm again. His entire cock coated in his own piss, rubbing against the rough material of the uniform, it takes him no time to add to the mess with thick ropes of ejaculate. His cock jerks and actually hurts in the most delicious of ways as he climaxes, grinding his hips into the wet mess.

He lies there for a few heartbeats, mind blissfully empty. Eventually, the urine gets cold and uncomfortable on his skin. With some trouble, he gets up on his shaky legs and sets to get rid of the mess and wash himself.

He needs to hurry, he has a Cardassian waiting for lunch.


End file.
